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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354059">It's Deeper than Your Bones; It's Woven in Your Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desired_Misery/pseuds/Desired_Misery'>Desired_Misery</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan is not quite human but you will have to wait to see, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Protective Dutch Van Der Linde, Protective Hosea Matthews, Short stories and maybe a plot i don't know, Young Arthur Morgan, more tags to come as I figure out what the hell im writing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:20:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desired_Misery/pseuds/Desired_Misery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of moments that, when looking back, makes Dutch realize that there was more to Arthur Morgan than what everyone could see.</p><div class="center">
  <p>-- --- --</p>
</div>Some people have some magic in their blood. Some of it is real magic, some of it is remnants of older supernaturals long gone with the fading open land in this country. Finding any supernatural people in the west is becoming rarer with every passing year. More often than not, you'd find someone with enough blood to give them a longer lifespan or a little more strength than the average man. Nothing more special than that. It's almost impossible to find these exceptions.<p> </p><p>Arthur Morgan had more than just a little-- but no one knew what is coursing through his veins. There ain't another man like him.</p><p>If he is a man at all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan &amp; Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews &amp; Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Unusual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649080">Mercy a Thing For Gentler Climes</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat">TheWaffleBat</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>basically I stumbled upon werewolf!Arthur Morgan fics and this idea popped into my head. taking a personal idea of a supernatural creature/ character and putting it into a fandom to play around with the world-building a little.</p><p> </p><p>*I will not be using any indigenous folklore</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was always something unusual about that boy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unnatural blood in him, lingering from an ancestor too far away to ever fully reveal its nature. Once upon a time before Europeans, this country had its own type of magic in their blood and souls. Europe did, too. Until the humans developed enough of society and the type of technology that forced those who didn’t match to fit in or suffer for it. And then the mostly-human Europeans conquered the New World and rid the earth of its ‘dangerous’ inhabitants once again to tame or cull the types of man that were lesser in number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the last frontiers of America shrinking, the wars and campaigns raged against the unnatural were long gone in favor of local legends and unused laws. Most of these types of people learned to live with society— at least on the outskirts, where they could live human-enough lives to hide in plain sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outlaws and the wilds were a good place for finding these folk. Live long enough in these lands and some of these communities couldn’t tell you why it was some of them had remnants of magic in their blood but it was mild enough to be a relic of an older era.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As long as it wasn’t advertised, most who could pass as human did so without much concern. It was easier to lay low than shake the boat. The civil war provided a few rights to those oppressed. Those rights didn’t mean shit in the face of the law when the outlaw or criminal was not as human as the rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Supernatural outlaws didn’t live long— they burned bright and fast, or died early with a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews were human outlaws. Dutch’s ideas of self-sufficient life away from government and large people appealed to non-humans— he was seen as a friendly sort, a man to turn to for help or problems if the accepted means could be outside the confines of the law.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of all the lost souls Dutch picked up like children, Hosea might have expected at least one to be supernatural. None of them had enough magic blood in them to be seen as anything more than human with a little bit of strangeness in their family tree. Life as an outlaw was hard enough. The few children who were supernatural were either not in need of a new life offered by Dutch… or they had not made it long enough for Dutch to discover them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Arthur, their first, has enough ‘wild blood’ to bubble up and spill over. It wasn’t obvious at first, nothing as dramatic as any of the shapechangers or the changelings. Arthur was a skinny boy of fourteen with a head full of fear and distrust lodged deep in his heart. Strange things didn’t happen around Arthur. Animals liked him just fine, horses and dogs and the animals of the woods treating him like any other man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rare approved forms of magic did not react to Arthur’s presence and he didn’t turn into a second creature when he dreamed or when he swam or when the moon turned full on cold winter nights. He could handle silver and iron and salt without gloves or pain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There were little things, though, that in hindsight may have been enough to someone who studied the unnatural. Maybe it was the life Dutch and Hosea lived that meant Arthur wasn’t ever in proper civilization long enough for someone to recognize the magic in his blood.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Hunger [Part 1]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur eats a lot. A whole lot.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tentative warning for Arthur's currently unhealthy relationship with food. He's not eating enough because his appetite is insane, not because he is starving himself or purging.</p>
<p>allusions to physical and emotional abuse in Arthur's past</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arthur stole food at almost the same rate as valuables and money. He is a good thief, quiet and efficient without Hosea’s fancy tricks of distraction or Dutch’s silver-charmed tongue backed up by gold-plated pistols.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had found him stealing from their saddlebags, too hungry to have waited to make sure the owners were gone for good before making his move. Dutch had a bleeding heart and the next thing Hosea knew, it was three horses setting out of town together after a good haul instead of two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They did their best to feed Arthur. It would have been more than enough for a growing boy at fourteen— and when it wasn’t, Hosea adjusted portions and shopping trips to match. It wasn’t anything to comment on to the boy’s face, Hosea and Dutch agreed. Arthur was a flight risk even after six months with them, quiet and obedient in a way no kid becomes without being taught that lesson with violence and fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no need to mention it until this evening as Arthur shuffled around his bags and pockets to share the results of his day’s work. The boy’s contribution was not meager— it never was, that poor kid with an irrational fear of Dutch kicking him out after a single mistake— it was more valuables than paper money, which was more than fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the way in which Arthur nudged a few cans of food to their food chest, hiding his gaze as he clutched the still-heavy bags against his chest. Hosea was inclined to leave Arthur alone, recognizing the boy was having one of his moments where he was a sharp word away from fleeing their company or shrinking down into a smaller target for a fight that would never come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch, though, was trying to be friendly. Coax Arthur away from his horse and the small tent he hid in and kept to for hours at a time, drawing him towards the camp and company he clearly wanted when his mind allowed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you ain’t keeping all the best stuff to yourself,” Dutch drawls, already returning to his new book with a tone with more curiosity than teasing quality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It may have been a snapped insult for how Arthur jumped, arms wrapping further around the bags with an instinctual desire to keep his things safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“N-no! I was just—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was only teasing, my boy.” Dutch cut into Arthur’s frantic denial, keeping his voice soft and his body relaxed against the log and fire. Hosea saw Arthur’s wide eyes and frowned down at the ledger he was sorting through with the day’s stolen items.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re allowed to keep things for yourself, as long as you ain’t holding out on us with a big pile of gold or something.” Dutch attempts another weak joke, trying to get Arthur to match his smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur swallows hard. “Just food, 's’all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shifts his weight and Hosea hears more than a few cans roll against one another in Arthur’s arms. He closes the ledger, the once-strange feeling of concern for Arthur returning to the familiar spot in the middle of his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you getting enough to eat, Arthur?” Hosea asks, like Dutch keeping his tone friendly and eyes soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch wouldn’t have pushed the issue but Hosea has seen how much food that boy puts away at every mealtime and any moment in between when he’s got access to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Arthur’s cheeks are redder than they were a few moments ago. He looks down at his boots as he shuffles his feet in the dirt. “Was sittin’ there so I grabbed ‘em.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea ducks his head, trying to catch Arthur’s gaze. “It’s okay if you aren’t, Arthur. Let us know. I don’t want you to go hungry— neither of us, do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sniffle, Arthur pries a hand away from his prized goods to dash away the start of a tear with a rough motion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘s fine.” He says, taking a half-step backward, away from the fallen expression on Dutch’s face and the pinched eyebrows Hosea knows he makes when he’s worried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch closes his book and sets it to the side with the smooth motions of a man trying not to spook something into bolting as he sits upright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dear boy, you’re working hard every day and growing all night. If you’re not getting enough food, it is more than fine to eat more.” Dutch keeps his preaching voice light in favor of the fondness he has for Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur finally looks up, eyes watery and large when he looks between the two of them and sees only kindness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“’m always hungry, Dutch. It ain’t ever go away.” Arthur croaks, miserable as his gaze flickers between the two of them as he gets out the words eating him up inside. “ I eat everythin’ already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Hosea knew it wouldn’t scare off Arthur, he would have pulled him into a hug tight enough to keep Arthur away from the cruel words echoing around his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, I don’t want you to go hungry.” Dutch repeats Hosea’s words, his deeper, smoother voice slow with the goal of getting Arthur to believe him. “If that means you need us to bring in more food, we can do that. If you tell us what you need, son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno what I need!” Arthur’s voice cracks into a desperate wail. “I already eat all the time— I steal food from folks an’ places an’ bring it back and keep it in my tent or on Boadicea an’ I eat it waitin’ for a job or a target or when I wake up in the middle of the night and I’m still so hungry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t want to be a burden—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not a burden, Arthur Morgan.”  Hosea interrupts, his seriousness weighing his words down heavier than lead. “You’re fourteen years old and while that is old enough to do a great many things, you’re still young enough to have family provide for you. Let us provide for you, my dear boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur tucks his face against the saddlebags to hide away the tears, standing there across the clearing from Dutch and Hosea with shaking shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There ain’t nothing wrong with you, either,” Dutch adds, getting to his knees to inch closer to Arthur. Having enough sense to know if he stands up Arthur’s likely to run off before revealing more of the pain he’s been hiding away from them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is!” Arthur’s voice reaches a near-hysterical pitch, rearing back like a spooked horse from the poison in his own head. “I’ve always eaten more than I should— more than any human— it was always too expensive to feed me—!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The source of Arthur’s internal anguish becomes clear with what little Hosea knows about Lyle Morgan from Arthur’s own admissions and behavior.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May your father lie long in a shallow grave and rot away as his heart did long before he died,” Hosea spits, his hostility shocking Arthur into silence. Even Dutch gives Hosea a raised eyebrow and a quick side glance when Arthur hiccups and rubs his face with the cuff of his sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re all human or not at all, my boy, I don’t give a damn. I care if you’re healthy and happy and certainly if you’re hungry no matter how much you’ve had for dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur stares at Hosea like he is unable to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch returns to inching forward, with a small sad smile. “Hosea and I are not ever going to abandon you because of a little difference, son. Arthur, remember when we promised we’d all take care of one another when you wanted to run with us? I meant that, every word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur allows Dutch to get close enough that Dutch reaches out with a steadying hand. Misunderstanding, the boy reluctantly lowers the saddlebags— but doesn’t shy away when Dutch places them on the ground and grips Arthur’s shoulders to ground him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Every word Hosea and I said just now, we mean it. All of it.” Dutch looks Arthur in the eye, waiting for him to maintain eye contact before he continues. Hosea wishes he could walk up but physical contact and Arthur don’t always get along. Better to let Dutch melt the boy’s fears without more fuss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promised you a better life, Arthur. How am I supposed to provide that if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur leans a little into Dutch’s hands and takes a shuddering breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I’m so hungry all the time—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Why’ isn’t important, son. That’s for later, perhaps. Hunger turns people into things they’re not, makes ‘em do things and think things they would never recognize on a full belly. How can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s helpless shrug is the boy’s only response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need more food at meals, more meals? Or is there something specific?” Hosea asks at barely more than a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno,” Arthur mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch hums and adjusts his grip on Arthur until he’s cupping Arthur’s neck and the back of his head. “We’ll figure it out, son, I promise. As long as you tell us what’s working and what isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch tilts his head a sliver and gently ruffles Arthur’s hair. “We’ll start with dinner and go from there. Do you have some food in there you want to be added to dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Dutch gestures to the saddlebags, a flash of fear and a hint of possessive anger run across Arthur’s reddened face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another time, maybe.” Hosea provides an out that Dutch respects as Arthur slides out from under his hand and scoops up his food.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy stands still to watch them like a startled doe, tensing as if it’s all a trick or cruel joke. Dutch makes a point to brush off his knees and return to his book. Hosea goes back to the ledger, not really doing more than adjusting his handwriting as he keeps most of his attention on Arthur without looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur stands there for almost a minute in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a quick turn on his heel, he darts into his tent with the bag hiding his food.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea and Dutch think over the conversation in the following silence of the late afternoon filled with an early crisp fall breeze and the calls of insects and birds. Dutch turns his head and opens his mouth— Hosea shakes his head once in his direction with a glance back to Arthur’s tent in close proximity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch returns to reading in agreement. Best not to talk where Arthur can hear them over something that has gotten the boy this emotional.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crate that serves as their food storage is well enough stocked in volume for a larger dinner, but Hosea searches for variety and something filling. Arthur added cans of beans and corn before all this surprising outburst. They don’t have any beef but replacement with salted pork would be as good. Add an extra can of beans and more meat than usual, there should be plenty for Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m making chili tonight unless you want to cook something,” Hosea says the implied question as a statement, knowing pulling Dutch out of a new book is nigh impossible without a dire situation. Hosea’s cooking is the best of the two of them— now, there’s a thought. He stashes that idea away for a day with a calmer Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds good, dear. Need any help?” Dutch surprises Hosea with an actual answer. It is a few beats late and nothing more than a mutter, but that’s more attention than Hosea expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea closes the food crate with a small chuckle of amusement. “If you’re still reading by dinner time, don’t move around any and I’ll be able to cook around you no problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Dutch rubs a finger over his lips and mustache, already pulled deep back into the pages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before long, as Hosea is sorting through his dried herbs to store them wrapped in paper before tucking them away, Dutch’s posture changes from sitting upright against the log to leaning on his side, chin propped up on his hand as he stretches out. In the same time frame, Arthur rustles around his tent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That boy makes so little noise sometimes, Hosea wonders if he does anything more than sit in fear or sleep when he hides away from the world. Arthur keeps moving around, though, which brings Hosea more comfort than he would ever admit out loud. Arthur making noise means he isn’t scared that angry is going to be directed his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea fills the peace by checking his coat is still serviceable and without the need for patches until it is time to begin to prepare dinner. Sometime between when the fire is fed to grow and the water for tea is boiling, Hosea catches sight of Arthur poking up from under his tent flap. Just his head and a little bit of back so he can rest his chin on his crossed arms in the flattened golden grass. Watching Hosea open cans and pick through his herbs as the salted pork is soaking in another pot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, sweet or savory?” Hosea doesn’t look up from the herbs he is deciding from, one jar in each hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... savory.” Arthur manages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment before Dutch’s distracted comment of “Not spicy, Hosea. It doesn’t agree with me—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I sleep next to you, Dutch. I know.” Hosea deadpans, a quick glance out of the corner of his eye catching the small twitch of Arthur’s mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” Dutch murmurs, turning another page.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t even an option,” Hosea mock-complains under his breath with a slight eye roll in Arthur’s direction. Dutch is too engrossed in his book to see the visible sigh Arthur lets out with a larger smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It fills Hosea’s heart with a need to pull another smile out of Arthur, as many as he can. So he pulls out a spare tin cup and pours a little water in it. He places it closer to Dutch than the fire, but far enough away from Dutch that he won’t glance up at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dutch, let me know when that water boils.” Hosea continues bustling around the fire, checking the pots that are actually cooking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looks at the cup of tepid water and back to Dutch’s form stretched out on a blanket. Close enough that if he sat up he could see that Hosea just put down a cup on the dirt. If he looked up at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will.” Dutch doesn't look up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur wiggles out of his tent by the time the smell of dinner is too tempting for him. Hosea lets him taste the progress and the adjustments he makes with the herbs and spices. Dutch is on his back now, the book held up to the darkening sky as he frowns up at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea regrets not having anything more to offer Arthur this time such as bread or biscuits, only able to give Arthur a large bowl of steaming chili and the offer for seconds and thirds if he wants them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dutch, dinner.” Hosea serves himself and leaves Dutch’s bowl out but empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur does want seconds. Hosea gets a little extra, too. When Arthur is eyeing the chili still in the pot and his empty bowl for the second time, Hosea nudges Dutch’s foot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dutch, get your share and stop making Arthur wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s guilty flush and shrinking posture starts—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hell, Hosea, your water!” Dutch shoots upright, returning to the real world upon remembering Hosea’s request. He reaches out automatically—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea hides a smile behind a bite of food as Arthur ducks his head to muffle his own laughter at the confusion on Dutch’s face and the long seconds it takes Dutch— Dutch van der Linde, one of the fastest marksmen in the West— to realize it was a joke. A cup of water sitting on normal ground and not heated coals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what would happen first, you finishing that book or that water boiling away.” Hosea shrugs when Dutch blinks at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur cannot stifle the snort he makes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch’s expression changes into a rueful smile as he looks around at the evening sky and the cooked and half-eaten dinner over a fire. He cracks his back with a groan and climbs to his feet to peer into the pot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If the book was better written, maybe you would have been waiting longer.” Dutch replies with an easy smile, the kind he gets any time he’s been hours away from the world either by sleeping or reading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Serve yourself before poor Arthur’s good manners are abandoned to claim your share.” Hosea makes sure his voice carries as much good-nature as he can muster, not wanting the boy to shy away when he’s trying to encourage Arthur to eat until he’s full.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dutch agrees wordlessly with a mouthful of food, book back in hand already. He uses it to wave Arthur towards the leftovers. The boy hesitates again despite more ushering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hosea nods to it with a soft “it’s all yours, Arthur. I made extra for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur takes it, quick, and scarfs it down like Dutch and Hosea had a history of stealing his food from him. But he took it, which is all Hosea and Dutch can ask for tonight. There will be other days to pinpoint what exactly Arthur needs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right now, it is a quiet evening and hot chili. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the very first sign of Arthur's wild blood.</p>
<p>the next few chapters will be how Hosea and Dutch can be good dads and help their son with his relationship with his hunger and capacity to eat more than two full-grown men.</p>
<p>AKA: the western gay couple's guide to feeding your adopted not-entirely-human son.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>comments are very treasured &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Magic like spells and charms are very rare until you reach places like New York or other large cities in the world where society is more progressive and has relaxed their ideas about magic. The Midwest and South, where Arthur will be, do not tolerate supernatural events, creatures, or people. Historically, killed a lot of people and species and that type of thinking remained until tensions over human rights bubbled up during the Civil War.</p><p>Knowing anyone who was even a quarter not-human was rare, and full-blood anything stays far far away from European dominated areas. Persecution of non-human folk was not uncommon and their rights were not always well protected even if they had them written in law.</p><p>-----------</p><p>I'm in a huge anxiety flare two weeks long so I'm stress-writing a whole bunch and cannot promise any pattern of updates or what fic I'm going to be working on next. But I'm all in on this idea so expect sporatic updates. </p><p>Feel free to ask questions, share your thoughts/ideas, or just chatter. Comments really help, I would love to know how y'all feel about all of this</p></blockquote></div></div>
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